


Baby Blues

by Etoiles_Filantes



Series: of ice and fire [2]
Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Angst, Earlier miscarriages, Gen, Mother-Son Relationship, Post-Draft, Teen Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-03
Updated: 2020-05-03
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:15:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23989477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Etoiles_Filantes/pseuds/Etoiles_Filantes
Summary: “ - Kent!”All that met her was a dial tone and a scream lodging in her throat. The sudden silence of the hospital hallway.I’m not gonna fucking kill myself. I’m not that much of a fucking coward.
Series: of ice and fire [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1710172
Comments: 5
Kudos: 42





	Baby Blues

**Author's Note:**

> This is a piece following one of the last scenes of [the third chapter of Ace of Spades](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23741788/chapters/57705121), Sarah Parson-Miller's point of view after Kent calls her after the draft, and probably won't make sense unless you've read that. It's one of the most self-indulgent things I have ever written, but written it is. As someone who loves exploring the relationships between parents and their children, I just couldn't help myself.
> 
> I own nothing of Check, Please! nor do I earn any money off this.

“ - Kent!”

All that met her was a dial tone and a scream lodging in her throat. The sudden silence of the hospital hallway.

_I’m not gonna fucking kill myself. I’m not that much of a fucking coward._

With shaking fingers and breaths coming out far too quickly, Sarah pressed her son’s name again, held the phone to her ear.

“The number you are trying to reach is out of service. Please leave a message.”

The scream fell as a whimper, a drawn-out sound she’d only ever heard the likes of in nature documentaries. The sound of a fatally wounded animal.

She hadn’t died thirteen days ago when the babies came early. She wasn’t going to die now.

And neither was Kent. If God had any mercy, neither was he.

A quiet prayer left Sarah’s lips, stuttered, broken, cut short by another whimper. She’d lost too many babies already. She couldn’t lose her first, too, not now. Not yet. Not ever.

“The number you are trying to reach is - “

Sarah bit down a sob on her fist, felt the blood trickle out from between her legs as her stomach clenched. She’d fucked up. Been so _fucking_ blind.

The sound of a baby fussing startled her from her thoughts, maternal instincts kicking in before her brain did as the sound of crying filled the air. One moment, she was in the hallway, the next she was in the room she’d been staying in since the birth with her second-oldest son in her arms, tears drying on his face and on her cardigan. He was so warm, so soft and vulnerable as she pressed kiss after kiss onto his cheeks, his hair, his little hand. Anything she could reach while the thoughts flared through her head, not for the first time, not by a long fucking shot, of how similar his smell was to Kent’s when he was a toddler. Of just how alike they looked.

It was only when Miles was once more nodding off in her arms that she noticed the tears on her own face. Drawing in a deep, stuttering breath, she put her son down on his bed, went back outside, closed the door as gently as she could.

When she dialled Kent’s number again, his phone had been turned off.

When she dialled her husband’s number, tears were once more flowing freely down her cheeks, breaths coming out more and more like they had thirteen days ago.

“Hey, baby, what - Sarah, what’s wrong? Sarah, love, try to talk to me here, Sarah - Sarah, has something happened with the babies? Sarah, please - my love, you have to - “

She hung up. Sank to her knees. Buried her face and in her hands as the phone rang, kept ringing, didn’t _fucking stop ringing_ \- 

“Nothing’s happened with the babies. It’s - I’ll call you back, the babies are fine.”

“Oh, thank - sweetheart, are you okay? I’m in Virginia, but I can come - “

Quiet once more filled the hallway, quiet save for her own breathing.

This had nothing to do with Ben. Kent wasn’t his son, they barely knew each other, he _didn’t fucking know her son -_

She ended the incoming call, pulled up a search engine. Even if there was so much Kent hadn’t told her, so many things she couldn’t begin to even think about, he’d told her some things. Enough to find a name. A face she’d just seen on a television screen. A phone number.

“Henri Molyneux.”

“Hello, this is - this is Sarah Parson-Miller. I’m Kent Parson’s mother. You’re his agent, right?”

“That’s correct, ma’am, and may I be the first to congratulate you. First pick in the draft, you must be very proud.”

“I am,” Sarah said, and she was. She always had been. “I just came off the phone with him, and - you’re at the draft, too, right? In Montréal.”

“I am, yes. That’s the noise in the background, I do hope you can hear me?”

“I can.” She drew in a breath, willed the tears not to fall again. Her voice still broke. “I just came off the phone with Kent, he - I’m worried he’s gonna hurt himself. He said he wasn’t, but - do ya know where he is right now?”

There was quiet for a second, a minute, a century. “He left the room quite quickly after being on stage, I - to tell you the truth, I haven’t seen him since. But try not to worry, Mrs. Miller, I’ll go see if I can find him. He probably just needed some air, these past few days haven’t been easy on him. As you know.”

“Yes,” Sarah whispered. “Thank you, I - I’m worried about him.”

“Of course you are. He’s your son, parents will always worry. But I’ll go find him now, and I’ll call you as soon as I have, alright? It’s going to be just fine.”

“Yes, thank you.” She swallowed down another sob, ignored the burn in the back of her throat.

“Thank you so much.”

“You’re quite welcome,” Henri Molyenux said, voice warm and patient.

The connection ended.

In the hospital room, Miles was still sleeping, thumb in his mouth, a habit he hadn’t quite grown out of yet, other hand curled around the foot of his teddy bear. Kent’s old, the one he’d hesitated for just a moment before throwing away.

A wave of love washed over Sarah, as did another wave of quiet tears.

She’d tried her best, she really had. Ever since he was little, she’d worked her ass off, kept him away from his father when he was in a mood, paid for his hockey, gotten him out of bad schools, supported him. Every step of the way. Or so she’d thought.

How long she sat watching Miles waiting for a call that didn’t come, she didn’t know. At some point, she found herself once more wandering the empty halls of the hospital, found herself in the small room containing her two youngest children. She hated that room, hated how small they looked in their cots, how many tubes were on them and in them, how she couldn’t just pick them up and hold them tight and give them everything they needed with her own body. If only they’d stayed inside of her longer.

Sometimes she thought there was something in her that repelled her children from her. Something that made Kent choose Canada, caused the babies to need to be born two months too early, something that explained the children she’d bled out before she even got a chance to know anything about who they might have become. Perhaps she just wasn’t meant to be a mother but had become one anyway by some cruel mistake of nature. Or her own.

Ben would call her silly if she said those thoughts aloud. Tell her she was a good mother, that he was honoured she’d carried his children, and that she was going to raise them with him. Convince her it was true. Tell her he loved her and mean it. And she would say it back, and she would mean it, too.

How long had it been since she last told Kent she loved him? How long since he’d said it back, how long since he’d meant it?

And she was being silly, of course he loved her. Of course he did. They’d been through so much together, lost so much, they couldn’t just … lose each other, too. How cruel a twist of fate that would be. No God was that cruel.

What would her Ma have done in her place? Cassandra Parson, larger than life, what would she have done?

Slapped her across the face, for once. Called her an irresponsible mother. Given her a hug, told her to get to her fucking son whatever it fucking took. Actions have consequences, Sarah, fix your shit. Like she’d done when Sarah had come home pregnant, ten days after her seventeenth birthday, directly from the abortion clinic where she hadn’t had it in her to go through with it. Slapped her across the face, called her an irresponsible whore, given her a hug, told her actions had consequences. What was she going to do now?

She was going to have a child.

That was nineteen years ago, nineteen years and six months - almost seven. She had that child now, she had four, but he was always going to be her first. The little bundle of screaming flesh that had been put in her arms as he was, bloody and gunky and entirely dissatisfied with being brought out of the comfort of her womb. And how she’d loved him, as soon as their eyes met. She’d loved him in her belly, too, but it was nothing, _nothing_ to what she felt when he was in her arms. In that moment, she had known with absolute clarity that she’d do anything for him. Climb every mountain, drain every lake, kill his sorry excuse of a father if he ever dared hurt him.

And she’d failed. For all of her trying, for all her work, for all that love, she’d failed.

Actions had consequences. It had been two decades, and she still hadn’t seemed to fucking learn.

When the phone finally rang, she nearly fell off the chair.

“Have ya found him?”

It was rushed, desperate, fucking pathetic, and she couldn’t give less of a shit.

“Don’t worry, Mrs. Miller, he’s with me right now. Unharmed.”

Relief hit like an avalanche, a hurricane, a punch to the gut. “Can I speak to him?”

“Not right now, I’m afraid. He’s asleep, I’d rather not wake him up. I don’t think he’s slept much since … well, you know.”

Sarah nodded, swallowed down the sour taste of disappointment rising in her throat. “Of course. Are you … is anyone with him?”

“I won’t be leaving anytime soon,” Henri Molyneux said. “I don’t feel like I can let him be on his own, not until he’s been safely handed over to the Aces.”

“Thank you,” Sarah whispered, just before his last words hit her. “That’s going to be a while, though, isn’t it? I mean, it’s barely July, training camps don’t start until at least three weeks, right? He’ll come home before that, won’t he?”

The silence was deafening. Shrill. “I’m afraid not, Mrs. Miller.”

“The fuck d’ya mean - 

“Mrs. Miller, please, try and calm yourself.” He waited, patiently, too patiently, too fucking - “A lot of things have happened in the last few days that complicate your son’s situation. Zimmermann’s overdose is … a tragedy, obviously, but it can be devastating for Kent’s career if we’re not careful. I don’t know if you’ve read some of the, how can I put this, the more salacious news outlets in the last twenty-four hours, but that Zimmermann did cocaine isn’t the worst of the stories they’ve come up with. And that your son might have, too, isn’t a conclusion that’s all that far away for those who believe them.”

“Kent wouldn’t do - “

“You understand how bad that could look for him, don’t you? If he just dropped off the face of the earth, went to - where do you live, New York? - went to New York with no explanation - “

“No explanation? He’d be visiting his fucking family, there’s nothing - “

“ - and let the news outlets say whatever they wanted. The Aces don’t believe he did cocaine, they don’t want to drop him, but if they can’t control this story they’re probably going to have to, do you understand that?”

“I understand, but he’s my - “

“Do you want to harm your son’s career? Everything he’s worked so hard for?”

Whatever words were preparing themselves to leave Sarah’s mouth died on her tongue. If anyone had walked past - but no one did, no one had walked past at any fucking point during the night - they would have found her gaping, gasping, like a fish on land.

Henri Molyenux didn’t wait for her to find her voice again. “I’ve been in contact with the Aces. They can take him in early, as soon as I can get him on a flight. The guy he’s supposed to billet with has already agreed, PR’s working full time. They’ve got it under control. They’ll know how to help him best.”

As if he wasn’t her son, as if he hadn’t come from her body, as if she hadn’t fucking cared for him for _nineteen fucking years_ \- 

“When this has all calmed down, he can come visit you, of course. No one will want to keep a son from his mother. But we need to get the situation under control first, you understand that, right?”

And she did. Of course she did. Sarah Parson-Miller was a lot of things, had been a lot of things in her life, but one thing she’d never been was stupid. Kent, neither. That, at least, he had gotten from her. If little else.

“I’m glad you’re on his side in this,” Henri Molyneux continued. “After something like this, almost losing his best friend … poor kid. I’m sure the Aces have a therapist on hold for when he arrives, in case he needs it. They do well for their players there, really care about them. And Kent will be especially precious after the season they just had. He’s going to fit right in. Probably be quite busy, too, but that’s sometimes needed after a difficult time, don’t you agree?”

In the fluorescent lights of the hospital hallway, Sarah nodded. The tears on her face glinted, but she didn’t feel them. Didn’t feel anything at all.

“He’ll be just fine, Mrs. Miller, I promise you.”

Promises could be broken. So many were every single day, as her Ma used to say. But, as she also said, sometimes you needed a little faith. God would show you the way, as long as you had faith. God would make everything alright. The wayward son always came home in the stories.

“He hasn’t even met his new siblings.”

Too little. Not enough.

“Have you given birth recently?” Surprise, always surprise, Kent was almost nineteen after all.

“Two weeks ago. Premature, but they’ll be alright.” The doctors had promised. “Kent hasn’t met them yet.”

“Twins?”

“Yes.”

“Congratulations. That’s simply amazing. I’m sure they’ll be very proud watching their brother on TV growing up.”

One of the lights had started flickering. Between her legs, more blood ran out, a constant reminder of the children she’d born. No one told you about the blood. “We’re all so proud of him.”

“Of course you are,” Henri Molyneux said, unaware of … everything. So unattached, so far from her reality. “And you’ll be even prouder in a few months when he’s living his dream. All parents of kids I’ve worked with have been. The joy in their son’s eyes, is what they usually say. All the hard work paid off, the kid’s and the parents’ both. ‘cause he made it.”

“He made it,” Sarah echoed.

“Not quite yet, but in a few months. If you let the Aces do their work.”

Sarah closed her eyes, blocked out the flickering light, felt the blood leaving her body. She’d run out, at this point. “Can you tell him … “

“You alright, Mrs. Miller?”

“Can you tell him I love him? Tell him to call.”

A beat of silence. “Of course. Goodnight, Mrs. Miller. Take care of yourself now.”

“You, too.”

It was a reflex, the result of too many hours looking after others, too many hours of being polite and available.

The call ended.

In the room just behind her, something was beeping, softly, regularly. It took her several seconds before she remembered her children’s heart monitors. Keeping them alive. Keeping them breathing. Keeping them growing until she could hold them, nurture them, feed them. Care for them like a mother should.

They still needed her, desperately. As did Miles.

And Kent didn’t. For as much as she hated the thought, for as much as it broke her heart, he didn’t. Not like he once had, not like they did. He was all grown up now, grown up and far away and soon even further. He had others looking after him.

But he’d call. If he needed her, he’d call, and she’d pick up. Be there.

He just had to call.


End file.
